so, i take what i can get
by bemysomeone
Summary: No matter how far either of the two will go to deny it, Pat and Tiffany will always find a way back to each other. Sooner or later.


_If finders were keepers, I'd still be at home_

_Take it or leave it, I'll show you the ropes_

_When you no longer see me_

_I'll be gone_

They moved in sync, to the beat, their heated breath mingling in the stadium air. She jumped, she leaped, he caught her, and they smiled. They smiled, eyes lingering with something—some _feature_. What was the word again? It hadn't been seen in their eyes for awhile. The word hadn't left their mouths in, what seemed like, quite some time. It'd always felt like a lost cause.

_Hope. _They saw hope.

Specifically, Pat saw it in _her _eyes. Tiffany's. As she gazed up at him, her hips rocking to the slow beat of the dance track, her eyes glimmered with that—_hope_—and he watched them longingly, wishing he had it within himself, too. His eyes quickly glanced over to Nikki, the apple of his eye, the woman in the corner of the room, watching them intently. Their was something in her eyes, too.

What was it? _Jealously_?

No, it wasn't. It was something more than that. Envy, maybe. She almost wished that she and Pat had that spark, that _fire_, that Pat and Tiffany had. But did Pat feel the same? Did he feel that fire everyone was always talking about? Looking down at Tiffany, he realized he did. The pit of his stomach burst into what felt like flames, butterflies, and eloped into the metaphorical land where, maybe someday, Pat and Tiffany could get along and, you know, be _happy. _It just felt like it could never happen. That this was what they always thought it was—_a lost cause._

Their dance ended, and Tiffany's eye was still on him. Pat could feel her gaze strong, _burning_, into the back of his head. Into the back of his _mind_. He never would've believed he'd fall for this girl, the girl in front of him. Tiffany Maxwell—even her name felt bitter on his tongue. Because that's what the girl was. _Bitter_. But she no longer looked bitter to him. Her eyes lit up with the same fire that was in his stomach, enflamed, dancing with the passion he longer for. But not with her, no. With Nikki.

He peered over at his lost lover as the dance came to an end. He pushed past Tiffany, whose arms were thrown out to him momentarily. He left her at a loss, and her heart dropped just like Pat's had when he found out the letters were—_Not. From. Nikki. _They were from _Tiffany_, the girl he could no longer bare to look at. Her eyes, so light, so foreign, it was like he didn't know her. But the bitter eyes were back to haunt him. Those eyes, too, burned into the back of his head, furious with him and his actions, as he made his way towards Nilki, the one he thought he wanted.

Keyword: _thought._

He _thought _he wanted her.

He walked, his strides long and prepared for what awaited him, towards the opposite end of the amphitheater. He embraced Nikki in a hug, one that was surprisingly empty. He didn't feel it. He didn't feel what he expected. It hurt him to feel this way—to feel _nothing_—so he gripped harder. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, stifling a small cry, and sighed. "Pat," she murmured. He began in her ear. He whispered everything—yes, _everything_—into those ears of hers, telling Nikki everything that had happened. And it had felt good to get it all off his chest. Suddenly, though, he felt a pang of guilt flood his inner being, as he knew Tiffany was watching from behind.

But why should he care? It wasn't like the were _together, _or anything. They were friends—_just friends_—and barely even _that_.

But, still, he turned. Still, he turned to seek Tiffany's approval.

_So much for answers, I don't have a clue_

_I can hear ya, you're calling from outside my room_

_You're still locked inside me_

_Holding on_

She wasn't there.

Tiffany, she was gone.

Pat's eyes widened momentarily, no longer listening to Nikki's husky breath is his ear. Her words were now smithereens of what they were intended to be, and his thoughts were somewhere else.

_Go after her_, the voice inside his head told him. _You have to go after her, Pat._

_ She's your Nikki._

His next thought was sick, but it made sense to him. _You're her History teacher. _He was the one to save her.

That voice, for once… for once, it was _right. _Pat needed to go after her. He patted Nikki's shoulder with a soft smile, no longer wanting to be rude to the ones he loved and cared for, but no longer concerned about what she thought. He needed Tiffany. He needed to see her. He needed to see the bitter in her eyes, one final time, before he told her.

_So I take what I can get_

_So I take what I can get_

This was Pat, taking what he could get. This was Pat, taking Tiffany Maxwell, the one he needed, by the hand, and loving her.

"Hey!" His voice was a coarse yell that met the unwilling girl's ears. "Hey!" he called again, but she kept running. She didn't know where she was running, but she was leaving, leaving fast, and no longer was looking back. Pat was behind her now. Far, far behind her.

But, still, she cried. Because she loved him. She loved him with all her fucking heart, and he denied her. She felt his hands on her back, pulling her towards him, whispering, "Hey, hey, it's going to be okay." Shushing her, reminding her it was only him, Pat, _the one she'd been waiting for_. But, still, she screamed. She was the one denying him now, yelling, "Please, stop! Just get the fuck off of me!"

So he did. He stopped, he let go. He let her go, her wrists so longer bunched in his hands, and he braced himself with a stiff, grim look. He glared down at her, his eyes softer than she'd expected to them to be. His lips were pressed together and he smacked them before speaking again. He was preparing himself, preparing himself for his words. Words he never believed he'd say.

_I'll break out your windows, I don't need a key_

_Show me your doubts and I'll make you believe_

_Yeah, you're still here to haunt me_

_You ain't gone_

"The letter—"

"—I have no idea what you're talking about, okay? Just leave me alone, because I know you want to. I know you fucking want to." Her hands were on his chest, and she was pushing him away. The look in her eyes, that _fire_—it was hate this time. It wasn't dancing passion, it was _hate_. Because women will hate you fast. And men will hurt them fast. Hate was Tiffany's shield, her guard, and she held it up defensively as Pat made his way back to her, again. Her eyes were shooting daggers at this point, daring him to take a step closer. So he did. He did.

"I know you wrote it, Tiffany."

She froze. She peered up at him, her eyes almost fearful of him, and what he'd do. But he wasn't upset, no. He was before, for sure. He almost hit her the way he did the History teacher. And, though it was a gross thought to think, he thought about her throat between his fingernails, and he was almost relieved. Relieved that he wasn't like that anymore. That he could look at Tiffany, now, and feel fine.

"So what?" She was back to herself, that bitter old widow he knew and cared for so, so much. She was dressed in all black, the same way she was when she first met him. But this time, things were different. Her nails were a deep red, a color she knew was Pat's favorite, and the thought that she might've painted them that way for _him_, of all people, made him happy. "So, fucking, what, Peoples? I wrote it. You must've known! I didn't even tell Nikki to come tonight!"

This wasn't the Tiffany he knew. She was acting evil, just to spite him.

But there was something in her voice. Some kind of regret.

_So I take what I can get_

_So I take what I can get_

"I know you're sorry," he told her, "I know you are. And I forgive you, okay? So let's move on."

"I don't need your pity, Pat." She was walking away again.

But all Pat saw was improvement—she was no longer running. _She was allowing him to catch up to her._

She knew what was coming next. And she wanted to hear it.

She wanted to know. God, she was tired of the bitterness. Her eyes were screaming at him, but they were pleading. _Save me, _they told him. _Give me a reason not to feel this way, because I'm tired of it. I'm so sick and tired of it, Pat. Save me._

Her pleads were now whispers, whispers she said aloud. "Please, Pat. _Please._" She wanted to tell him to go away, but she didn't. She couldn't. She needed him to breathe, to stand, to simply function. She could no longer run away. Not after seeing him like _that_, knowing damn well he loved her as much as she loved him.

Her pleads no longer were begs for her own solitude. They were now begs for it. _It_, those _three damn words _she needed to hear.

"Thank you," he said finally. There were tears in his eyes, too, now. Just like the night they met.

But this time, things were different. They were happy tears, tears he knew Tiffany would love, and the thought that he might've had them in his eyes for _her_, of all people, made her happy.

_"I love you."_

_If you are coming home_

_I'll be out on my own_

_I don't need you_

_To give me back the open wounds_

_But if you start to shed your skin_

_Naked heart - wearing thin_

_When you call_

_I'll be here_

_Once again_


End file.
